His Name was Captain Jack Harkness
by Mad Miss Hatter
Summary: Kind of a stereotypical self-insert fanfiction. Sort of an outside look at Torchwood. I'm considering extending it into a full story. Mostly that depends on reviews and my mood, I guess.


**Overview:** Just a stupid little one shot from the point of view of an outsider.

**Rating:** K

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Torchwood, or any of the characters

**A/N: **Like I said, this is just a dumb little one-shot with a stereotypical insert of myself as the outside character. I wrote it one day a while ago when I was thinking about mortality and other vast, depressing things, and I found it recently and decided to upload it. I might expand and make it a full blown story. Who knows.

**Enjoy (:**

He said his name was Captain Jack Harkness. He must have either been tipsy, or very tired, because the things he said were wild. Out of this world, and very personal. He sat there in his long, blue, military coat, a glass filled halfway in his hand. And, wow, the stories he told.

I sat alone at the bar, listening to the sounds of the pub. Clinking glasses, laughing men. A football game was on the telly, though I hadn't paid it any mind for very long. I wasn't really sure why I was there. Maybe to drink away the week. I was contemplating my third gin when he sat next to me, but I hardly noticed him. He was just another man in the pub wanting to drink away his week.

He ordered some drink, and the American accent that laced his speech caught my interest for a moment. I leaned forward against the counter, staring down into the empty glass before me. I battled with myself for a moment. I had to be able to get home, and stumbling into a cab, vomiting in the back seat, and paying double the fare to cover the cost of the ruined upholstery didn't sound like the way to do it. Not again.

Oh well.

"Another gin please."

The American next to me turned. "You're not from around these parts, are you?"

"You should be talking," I said, "I've lived in Cardiff for the last 7 years."

"Captain Jack Harkness, nice to meet you…"

I turned to look at his smiling face, "Back at you."

He shook my hand, and I turned away.

"How do you like it here?"

"Sometimes I love it. Sometimes I want to run away. Sometimes I want to sit and drink without some stranger asking me questions, no matter how good looking and charming he may be."

He didn't respond, at first. Then he launched into a story. I hardly understood a word he said; most of it sounded like ridiculous gibberish, like something out of Star Trek or something. I drank in silence while the sound of his voice bathed over me, talking about aliens, and a doctor, and how he wanted so badly to travel the stars.

"You're mad, you are," I said when he stopped for a breath.

Then another story ensued.

"Do you believe in eternal life?"

"You mean like heaven? I don't know."

"No, I mean just somebody being able to live forever."

"Anything's possible, I guess. Though, I don't know why anyone would want that?"

"How's that?"

I thought for a moment. "Do you mean live forever as in, live until you're killed by someone else, or you can't be killed?"

"You can't be killed."

"Then what's the point? What's the point in life if there's no chance of losing it? Life without death is like day without night. It just can't be. Life without death isn't really life at all, it's just being, like a rock or something. But not even a rock, because a rock can be eroded, and ground down. There's no purpose in having a purpose if there's no chance at ever losing it."

He stared at me silently. His lips were pursed and his brow furrowed. For a moment I worried I had offended him. I couldn't tell if he was going to cry, or if he was angry or judging me. I'd always found human emotions difficult to read. I'd much rather read something definitive; something diagnosable and treatable. Emotions were so soft, and malleable. After a moment the expression melted away.

"Do you really find me charming?" A big grin spread across his face.

I shrugged.

"You do."

"Why did you want to know my opinion on eternal life?"

"What do you do?"

"…I'm a doctor."

He stood, turning away. "See you around, Doctor."

"See ya."

I had an odd dream that night. I dreamed I followed him. That I'd questioned that strange man in a military greatcoat. When he wouldn't answer me I persisted until he did. And when he did, the answers were vague, incomprehensible. They blurred together, swirling about like paint drops in a bowl of water. He took me to his home under the city. There were other people, beautiful people. A doctor, like me, and a man in a suit. And there were two women. The Welsh one with the gap in her teeth took me out for coffee. That was when I woke up, tucked into bed, fully clothed.

I still see that man sometimes. Walking around town, with heavy purpose in his step. Or sitting at lunch with the suited man from my dream. I've even seen him driving past in a big SUV with _Torchwood _engraved into the side. I've asked some of the locals what it meant. The most common responses were confusion, or a shaking of the head and a "bloody Torchwood."

Sometimes I consider confronting him. Asking who he was, or why he told me the things he did.

Mostly, though, I just keep my distance.


End file.
